What Remains Untold
by Unsung Heroine
Summary: “… Then Caranthir looked kindly upon Men and did Haleth great honour.” This is their tale, my interpretation of the story behind history. RECENTLY IN REVISION.
1. Part I: Between Ascar and Gelion

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. Though I wish Caranthir was. I'm beginning to like him, really.

**Author's Note:**

This story is about Haleth of the Haladin, a character I liked from the first encounter on, though her appearance in the Silmarillion lasts for what is only about three pages.From the very beginnig Ifound that there should be more"going on" between her and Caranthir, so this story is practically my interpretation of the fact that he "did Haleth great honour" as the book tells us. HoME actually says that Caranthir in fact was married, but well, either he or me is ignoring the very fact. You may label this fic slightly AU if you feel like it. Caranthir may here and there appear to be a little too "nice", but unfortunately that's subjectivity on my part, hehe.

_"What Remains Untold"_ was partially inspired by some lines of a poem in Lost Tales 2, saying the following:

_The song I can sing is but shreds one remembers  
Of golden imaginings fashioned in sleep  
A whispered tale told by the withering embers  
Of old things far off that but few hearts keep._

I actually intended to make a whole series of stories under the motto of _"Shreds One Remembers"_ but unfortunately that whole Haleth/Caranthir business got really out of hand. ;-)

So well, I won't talk any further. Enjoy the story.

* * *

**What Remains Untold**

**Part I: Between Ascar and Gelion**

She's a rather small Atani-woman of slight built, though muscular and strong-featured, her hair a coppery shade of blonde – a colour that does have no name – neither really straight nor curly, hovering somewhere in between, cut back to a length reaching slightly beyond her uncommonly broad shoulders. She's still young and of a fierce and rough kind of beauty, like the roaring sea in mid-winter, when a keen breeze whips salty ocean spray far into the mainland.

No. Don't call it beauty.

There is certainly something about her that's attracting men, but it is not quite what is commonly referred to as "beauty". No luscious soft hair flapping in the warm wind, the colour of ripe wheat, no delicate white fingers weaving flower garlands on green meadows in spring.

No. She is much more than that. Too much in fact to be reduced to the meagre term of "beauty".

Her eyes are a colour of gleaming greyish blue, like gathering storm clouds, shining with determination derived from old inheritance. Haleth is no one to take defeat lightly. If she does take defeat at all, that is.

But now, trapped between Ascar and Gelion, she is close to it. When her father and brother are killed by the enemy she does not hesitate to take up the lead of her people by herself, being skilled with both sword and bow – trying desperately to defend them.

"For what choice do I have?" she says, shrugging. "Shall I wallow in self-pity and leave them all to their certain death?"

Haleth does not contemplate what was or could have been. She keeps her eyes cast on the future. Firmly.

"If you want some" she tells her opponents, raising her father's sword, "then come and get some!"

At last they do both.

Finally the unexpected appearance of Feanor's son saves her and her people from the worst, although she is loath to admit it.

"I can very well look after myself", she tells him, "but I cannot protect them all."

Caranthir nods. He sees, that not all of the Haladin are like her. That most of them, though willing to fight fiercely for their cause, do not possess the strength that is Haleth's very own.

He ponders the young woman's dirty face, then casts a look at the desolation surrounding them. She must have fought like a wildcat to keep alive what little has remained of her people.

"You did what you could", he mumbles, biting his lower lip.

She sighs, smiling sadly while fingering the hilt of her sword.

"Would that it was enough."

* * *

He finds himself oddly fascinated by the unyielding spirit of this tiny mortal woman, maybe even impressed, if only a little. And there is some kind of envy mixed into his emotions – oh yes, envy – and eventually a spark of desire. Eventually.

If he is honest he envies her her life. Her life that seems so easy, so simple to him. He envies her her uncomplicated world in which good is still good and bad still bad. It is not that he was blind to her struggles. Oh no, he is very well aware of that. But he is so tired of his own world, where the lines between good and bad have become confusingly blurred, where the path between sense and insanity develops slowly but constantly into a walk on the tightrope. Sometimes he is not able to tell anymore.

He envies her the fact that she is not bound to anything but her very own conscience, led by nothing except her self-imposed task, the duty to defend and protect her people. For her there is no unbreakable oath to fulfil, no blood of her own kin staining her hands, no hallowed jewels to set out on a madman's hunt for.

He envies her the youthful innocence he sees sparkling in her eyes. Not that she would think she was much of that. No. Not anymore. But still to him she seems so. It might be because she is of Ilúvatar's Younger Children and far from being weary of the world.

He envies her the very fact, for he would that he might act as impulsive as she does, with nothing to follow but what her very own heart tells her to be right.

He himself has gone far beyond that and now, here between Ascar and Gelion, face to face with this fierce, young Atani-woman, he finds himself yearning to have her life. To mount his steed and leave for the wilderness, to abandon the shreds of his shattered existence and simply cease being Feanor's son, Noldorin exile, kinslayer. To finally part from that desperate road leading him inevitably to the point where he will have gone too far to care and return to a simple life. A life like hers.

Oh yes, he envies her. But he will not tell her now. Not in front of his whole host, just as she won't tell him that she has run out of arrows days ago, barely prepared for the fight to come. Haleth won't display her failures, for failures mean weakness, always.

He stays in her encampment for several days, offering support in searching for the dead and at last burning them on a pyre, greater than comfortable for Haleth's liking. She has to put her pride aside in accepting his help, albeit she is utterly thankful (though she most probably won't tell him), but nonetheless she feels embarrassed of not being able to offer him more than this desolate place to reside in, along with her own humble tent, its floor covered in a multitude of rugs, its only furniture a plain desk with two chairs, her own small chest with the brass-framed mirror and a fireplace adding its own contribution to the already stuffy air.

One day during Caranthir's stay she sits there in front of the chest on the more hale of the two chairs, while a very skinny, very tall, very dark-haired woman braids her hair. Haleth is squinting at the oval-shaped mirror, observing her companion's concentrated features in the dull glass. She relishes in the fleeting peace of the moment, in the soft light numerous candles cast upon them and the quiet sizzling of burning wood in the hearth, when suddenly the dark-haired woman breaks her silence.

"He is beautiful, isn't he?" she asks in a low voice, slowly, hesitatingly.

Haleth looks up, her brow furrowing.

"Of course he is", Haleth says soberly. "He is one of the Eldar. He is supposed to be beautiful. And do not yank at my hair thus."

"Forgive me, my Lady."

The woman steps from one foot to the other as if not sure what to say next.

"He seems particularly interested in you, my Lady."

Haleth's expression turns to one of displeasure and she glares angrily at the picture of the woman in the mirror.

"It is not your place to ponder on what dealings I do have with the Lord Caranthir", she says in a voice that might freeze the Sundering Seas and the woman's hands stop their work.

"Of course, my Lady. It is not my place. Forgive me", she answers, her lower lip quivering as she resumes braiding.

"One should better hold one's tongue", Haleth mumbles under her breath. "Someone might cut it out."

Her tone, though barely audible, is harsh, nearly frightening, and she smiles in a pleased way as she feels the woman flinch. Haleth is no opponent one would wish for.

Once more silence reigns in the barely lit tent, Haleth's tent, a modest structure and yet practically the axis of her present world.

For her is where her and Caranthir sit to discuss the day's events and here is where he begins to appreciate the Atani-woman more and more as the days pass. An intriguing person she is, the small mortal girl with the noble heart.

* * *

"They are not like me", she tells him one night, looking deep into his eyes. "Just look at them. They are smiths and carpenters, farmers, women and children. They are no warriors. Most of them have never learned to wield a sword or shoot the bow." She shakes her head. "Nor do they know how to ride a horse."

"But you do?" He smiles a faint smile, not meant to look mocking but still she receives it so.

For one moment Haleth lowers her gaze and then meets his once more, a ferocious gleam in the depths of her storm-cloud eyes.

"I knew how to ride before I could even walk properly; I have been taught how to shoot the bow before I could read and I owned my first sword before I could write. I know how to defend myself, my Lord. My father taught me well."

Tears gather in the corner of her eyes, threatening to fall, but Haleth is well learned in holding them back. She knows how to keep her composure, her glance searing piercingly into his own eyes.

But Caranthir does not flinch her gaze. Instead he begins to grow extremely fond of that woman, sitting in front of him, chin raised defiantly.

"Haleth", he says softly, after a short time of silence, meeting a questioning look of her. "I would be most pleased to call you my guest at the court of Dor Caranthir."

* * *

**TBC**


	2. Part II: Thargelion

**Disclaimer: **Not mine. I told ya.

**Author's Note: **I have practically no knowledge of Elven languages but I'm pretty positive that "Adanwen" means "human maiden". Correct me if I'm wrong.

On with the story.

* * *

**Part II: Thargelion**

Only few days later she joins him to the fortress he holds in Thargelion, on the Western slope of Mount Rerir, close to the shores of Lake Helevorn. He gives her a luscious bedroom and calls her Adanwen, the human maiden. He takes her hunting and lets her ride one of his Valinorean horses, a great chestnut stallion, instead of her own rather rustic bay mare. The nights pass in a profuse mingling of wine and food and song and sometimes she nearly feels guilty, thinking of her people who right now dwell in a hastily erected camp down by the lake, governed by her sister-in-law, her late brother's wife.

But right now she is far too weary to feel guilty for the room with the high lattice-windows facing East to Ered Luin, for the fire-place or the warm fur-blankets or the artful tapestries lining the walls. After all she has fought for days without even sleeping. Curse the fool who would condemn her for relishing in the luxury of lavender-scented bed-sheets and the likes. Curse him.

One cool, hazy afternoon she sits in her chambers, when two maids of Caranthir enter, one of them carrying a bundle of cloth under her arm. Both nod politely and the bundle is placed on the bed and unwrapped in one swift, flowing motion. It appears to be a gown of light blue colour, made of the finest fabrics.

Haleth raises her eyebrows in question.

"Lord Caranthir wishes you to wear this for the feast tonight, my Lady."

She remains silent, looking not a little astonished. She did not know there would be a feast again. Somehow she cannot help but wonder if Caranthir ever stops feasting.

The Elven maids help her to put on the gown and braid her hair in Elvish fashion. She feels odd at the fact of suddenly having her private Ladies-in-waiting. It feels strange to be spoiled thus after leading a relatively simple, un-bound life since the very day she was born. And he obviously loves to spoil her.

After they have left she sits perched on the edge of her bed, feeling rather out of place. She is not used to wearing such exquisite silks instead of her usual attire, though one of the maids, a lithe dark-haired girl with gleaming eyes has been assuring her over and over again how adorable she was to behold and that wearing riding gear for tonight was of no option at all.

She peers down herself wondering what would make Caranthir wish for her to wear this, asking herself if tonight's feast will be any different from the last. The gown must have been made especially for her, fitting perfectly, even in length. A dress originally made for an Elf-woman would have never looked like that on her.

Still she doesn't feel too comfortable and finds herself idly straightening non-existent creases and readjusting perfectly tied satin laces. She cannot help but feel ridiculous.

It is then that Caranthir comes to her.

"My Lord:" She jumps up, rather startled.

"Adanwen." He smiles at her. "There is something I want you to have. Close your eyes."

He moves behind her and she feels the sensation of something cold against her skin as he places a long silver chain around her neck, so long in fact that it hangs down to her navel. Attached to it is an emerald, set in an intricate pattern of silver leaves.

"It is beautiful", she breathes. "But why would you want me to have it?"

"Because it fits you well, Adanwen."

"That is hardly a reason to give me such a treasure."

"If I deem it good enough a reason then good enough a reason it is." His expression is stern, his voice sincere. "You are a remarkable woman, Adanwen and it is only fitting a gift. And do not argue with me to take it back. It is yours and I want you to wear it for tonight."

A bewildered look crosses her face. She takes the gem in her hand, marvelling at its shine that seems to come alive in her grasp.

"I… I do not understand this, my Lord. This dress, the jewel, the feasting, all of this. Why do you think you have to spoil me when it is I who has a debt to pay?" She snorts. "Not that I could offer much."

"I am not expecting any payment, my Lady. No discussions."

He circles around her, contemplating every detail, from her neatly braided hair to the way the dress outlines her slender, almost boyish looking hips. Finally he smiles a satisfied smile.

"You look beautiful, Adanwen."

"I do not look myself", she says, looking down at the green jewel dangling from her neck, while she smoothes an invisible crease in the silk covering her waist. When she looks up he is already gone.

"I do not look like Haleth of the Haladin."

* * *

At last she enters the feast wearing her riding gear, the emerald pendant around her neck and her sword strapped to her side. Many have come tonight at Caranthir's bidding and all eyes are drawn to her – his in particular. She meets his gaze proudly, eyes sparkling in defiance as she strides into the torch-lit hall. For all her mortality, she certainly knows how to make an entrance.

He motions for Haleth to sit down next to him and a servant pours her some wine into a goblet.

"What is this fuss about, Adanwen?" he asks coolly yet not unfriendly. "I did certainly not ask you to bring your weaponry."

She smiles slightly and one does not know if she does it for herself or for him.

"It is about me, Caranthir Feanorion. It is about who I am and about honouring my descent. It is about respecting what my father believed in and carrying on what he fought for. For I am Haleth Haldadiel, and I am leader of the Haladin, the third house of the Edain. I do not want to be held for less."

"I certainly admire your pride, yet one would deem it not very wise to reject the wish of a son of Feanor, my Lady", he whispers into her ear, eyeing her attire.

"Well, my Lord, I am not known to be extraordinary wise", she replies, smirking.

He decides he likes it when she does so. And Haleth smirks a lot.

* * *

"I was just wondering to whom you pledge allegiance, my Lady" Caranthir suddenly remarks between two bites of meat, breaking the common silence of the meal and quite obviously trying to sound as casual as possible.

"What is it about the mortal woman?" someone hisses at his side and he sees two of his brothers sticking their heads together.

He remains silent as his eyes bore into hers as if trying to find there anything beyond the careful composure she displays so skilfully. .

"To none", Haleth replies, wincing slightly as she realizes her answer has come out harsher than actually intended. Composing herself again – though she visibly struggles to prevent a fierce gleam from creeping into her eyes – she smiles at him politely, speaking in a casual tone most similar to his.

"The Haladin are a people of their own and proud to be such. But why would you want to know, my Lord?"

He smiles briefly, putting the cutlery aside and suddenly he does not sound to casual anymore. In fact his voice is deadly stern by now. Not that it would bother Haleth.

"I have an offer to make, Haleth. An offer to you and your people."

Though he has spoken in a low voice, heads start to peak up all about them, an unbelieving expression written upon most faces, whispering agitatedly to each other.

Haleth feels her hands setting down her own cutlery and her eyes grow wide in a way that she curses herself for. She lowers her eyelids and as she speaks her voice is thick with some sort of anxious curiosity that she would love to conceal but does not manage to.

"And what would this offer be, my Lord?" she asks in a low voice, trying hard to sound as indifferent as she is able to.

Caranthir eyes the surrounding eye-pairs cautiously. For a moment he contemplates whether to continue the conversation in a more private environment, but then decides on being Lord of Thargelion and having the right to bring up whatever topic he chooses on whatever time he wishes to do so, here in his own halls.

"I do not want you to give in to illusions I came to the joining of Ascar and Gelion on my South-Western borders for the sake of your people, Haleth. I came to rid my lands of a host of orcs, not to defend a bunch of Aftercomers, to speak frankly. Nevertheless I have come to see your pride and wilfulness and how fiercely you protect what is yours, although you may be no folk of warriors originally. Your kind is rumoured to be weak and sickly and of short life and though at least the last of this is true there is a fire burning in you that fills me with wonder. You deserve more than what you have, my Lady, and this is what I have to offer: Move your people North. Dwell in Thargelion under the protection and friendship of the Eldar. Let us join forces."

His voice penetrates the apprehensive silence like a beacon would light darkness. Murmurs can be heard.

"I'm not interested in forging alliances", she states briskly.

He draws a deep breath.

"I am not talking about alliances, Haleth. What I am mainly talking about is free land. Land at your disposal. Land where you might live in relative peace."

She smiles a mirthless smile. "Nowhere is peace in these lands."

"You know what I mean, my Lady."

"I…" Haleth stops dead in her tracks.

She realizes what grand an offer he has just made to her. An offer that holds little advantages for himself in fact, though many for her. But Haleth is a proud woman and not willing to be sheltered by anyone, Noldorin prince or not. Her mind has been made up before she even came here. She cannot stay in Thargelion forever. And if now is not the time to announce her plans, then when?

"This is indeed a most generous offer, my Lord", she says diplomatically, drawing a deep breath. "But I am afraid I have to refuse. My decision has been made and still stands. I will move West, away from the shadows of the Mountains, where others of my kindred have gone before me."

Caranthir nods slowly.

"I will not be the one to restrain you, my Lady."

A small smile steals upon her lips. "And I will be most grateful for this."

Secretly he wishes things would be as easy for him as they are for her. To simply go and rejoin his kin. However Valinor is an entirely different matter than Haleth's desire to move away from the Mountains and while she is free to go, his way into the West remains shut. Yet the wish is there, undeniably, though he would never tell her of it. She might think him too weak to hold his grounds. In particular because she has no choice but to hold hers. There is no second option for Haleth.

* * *

**TBC**


	3. Part III: Walk the Arcades

**Disclaimer: **No. Not mine.

* * *

**Part III: Walk the Arcades**

It's already late at night when the feast finally draws to an end and Caranthir approaches Haleth in the flickering light of the torches.

"May I escort you back to your sleeping chambers, my Lady?"

She graciously extends her hand to him. She may not look like a proper Lady, but she very well knows how to act like one.

"Always, my Lord."

And so he takes her hand and they leave the hall, walking through the arcades in silent companionship.

It is her who finally speaks.

"You are doing me great honour, my Lord."

"Rest assured", he whispers, smiling slightly. "I'm enjoying this as much as you do. It's all eyes on you, warrior princess."

She utters an annoyed snort.

"That would be because I'm mortal."

"It would be because you are an enchanting sight to behold, my Lady."

Caranthir's tone is a bit too smug for Haleth's liking. She glares from beneath lowered eyelids, then stops as if in sudden realization.

"So this is what you need me for?" she asks, disappointment evident in her voice. "The fair human maiden at your side? Not more than some pretty adornment for your lacklustre court?" She laughs dryly, a hollow, unpleasant sound. "Is it that what I am to you? Is it that why you want me to stay here?"

He rolls his eyes, an expression that she does not miss at all.

"Adanwen, you know…"

Haleth shakes her head, her smile devoid of any humour and pretty close to a scowl.

"Oh no. Stop it, Feanorion. I don't want to hear it. I am no pretty price to be dressed up in fine fabrics and shown off to your subjects. I have no interest in playing the fierce Edain-princess for the fact it pleases you. I am no wild animal you can cage and tame whenever you feel like it…"

"Adanwen…"

"Stop playing your games, Caranthir. You seem to forget who is standing in front of you. Take a look at me: A daughter of the Fathers of Men, a woman of the Edain. I do not like being toyed around with."

Suddenly a cold fire seems to gleam within Caranthir's eyes and menacingly he moves closer to her, until she has no choice but to stand with her back pressed firmly against the wall, while their faces hover only inches apart.

"You seem to forget who I am", he hisses. "You seem to forget I am a son of Feanor."

"I could not care less right now, Caranthir", she snarls, raising her chin.

"You are a proud person, Adanwen."

"I have every right to be."

He reaches out slowly and then his hand comes to rest on her cheek, gliding down her jaws and tracing the curve of her partially opened lips.

"Thank Ilúvatar that I like this trait of yours."

The kiss he suddenly presses on her lips is impetuous, demanding and completely unexpected, but Haleth is in no way inferior to Caranthir when it comes to taking. Despite being caught unaware, the pleasure does not remain only his. She almost detests herself for enjoying it, but his mouth tastes sweet and warm and not unpleasant at all – and Haleth is no stranger to desire, basic as it may be.

After what seems to be only split seconds they pull away from each other, panting slightly. Then he takes her hands once more, leading her briskly to her chambers as if nothing occurred.

Finally they come to a halt in front of the double doors leading to Haleth's room.

"And what was that for?" she exclaims, still slightly breathless.

"I just felt like it."

She raises her eyebrows incredulously. "Because you felt like it? You probably think you could have everything if you just reach for it, Feanorion."

"Exactly."

Haleth forcefully wrenches her hand out of his. "Good night, Feanorion", she says coldly, her voice deceivingly calm. A moment of absolute silence settles between them as they stand in the arcades, glaring at each other.

"Well, Adanwen, is there something you still wish to tell me or why in all Arda are you staring at me thus?" Caranthir drawls lazily.

The question has been on her mind ever since she told him about her choice. She knows that it's now or never. "Do you despise me now?" she asks straight away.

He raises his eyebrows. "For what, Adanwen? Your little fit of pride? Your petty insults? Could you please specify your question?"

She chuckles a little. Her storm-cloud eyes sparkle but then she becomes serious once more.

"No, this was not what I meant, though I might apologize if it would mean anything to you. But no, I was not talking about our little argument."

There is a short pause before Caranthir speaks. "What then?"

"About my rejection of what you have been offering. This is… well, this is in fact the most generous offer ever made to me, but still I cannot accept it. I did not mean to offend you and I ask you to forgive me if I did. I want you to know that the last thing I intended was to act ungratefully after everything you did for me and my people. You must believe me that I know to appreciate that. I really do."

He frowns a little.

"It was an offer, not an order", he says and sounds nearly insulted, as if hurt in his pride, if only a little. "There is nothing to forgive, rest assured. I respect your choice and I am telling you that he, who dares to hold you back, must be a thrice-cursed fool. Go and follow your heart, Adanwen. There is nothing wrong about this. Indeed, I would I could simply do so, too."

And there is it again, Haleth's beautiful smirk.

"Well, there is not really much to it, is there?"

He sighs audibly, a long, silent breath like the calm before the storm.

"Maybe for you, Adanwen. But certainly not for me", he tells her. "I have gone too far to just go where the wind carries me off to. It has swept me off my feet once and I am bound not to let it happen again."

She smiles sympathetically, reassuringly, with wisdom dearly paid for, beyond her still so very young age. Haleth has learned how to stand up again.

"Believe me, I know what it feels like to be swept off one's feet. I am no stranger to the feeling when your whole world caves in", she states calmly although she cannot prevent the thought of her father and brother invading her mind.

"This is not what I mean, Adanwen. There are some things that I should never have done. There is blood on my hands and the more I try to turn my back on my past, the more I recognize the stains. There is no redemption for me. No way left to escape and follow my heart."

The words simply come out. He is not sure why he lets her know at all. Perhaps it is the way she stands here in front of him as if firmly rooted to the stone tiles, like a rock to hold on to amidst the tumbling streams of time. Small, yes, yet not fragile at all.

For a moment Haleth seems to be startled at the look in his eyes, an odd mixture of cold fury and… something close to regret? She cannot place it properly. But then, she is not stupid and it begins to dawn on her.

"Alqualonde. This is what you are talking about. The whispers are travelling all over the land. About an Unbreakable Oath and the Curse of the Valar. This is it, am I right? So it is true."

She has to frown at the bewildered look in his eyes and proudly raises her chin, not flinching his gaze. One as Haleth does not flinch.

"I may be Atani, you know, but I'm not completely unknowing."

Caranthir closes his eyes. His voice is low, almost a whisper.

"You do know nothing about the Swanhaven."

The corners of her mouth move upwards into a slight smile.

"No. I don't. I never said I would."

"You would condemn me if you did. You would despise me and curse me and spit into my face. And the worst thing is that you would be right. You would hate me, Adanwen."

"No. I would not."

His brow furrows in obvious confusion, though he tries hard to hide it and stay calm.

"And what makes you think so?" He shakes his head in lack of understanding.

Her storm cloud eyes soften recognizably.

"There are some things, Feanorion, that are not my place to judge. I am usually leaving these to one who may and do not further worry about the very fact. Sometimes this is the better thing to do, believe me." She does not succeed in suppressing the small smirk that threatens to creep into her expression..

Caranthir cannot help but stare in wonder at the small Atani-woman standing in front of him, his lips curling into a faint but honest smile.

"You are far wiser than I, young one", he whispers as he pulls her close and plants a soft kiss on top of her head.

"Sleep well, Adanwen."

* * *

**TBC**


	4. Part IV: Valinorean Lullaby

**Disclaimer: **Mine. My preciousssss. Just kidding. No, it is not.

**Warning: **It's getting a little romance-y now, I fear. All candles and fur-rugs and whatever... ;-)

* * *

**Part IV: Valinorean Lullaby**

Haleth finds no sleep that night. At last she wraps herself in a blanket and leaves her room. Standing in the arcades facing the courtyard with the fountain she is watching the stars in the moonless sky, fumbling with the chain she is still wearing until she becomes aware of a presence behind her. She may be Atani, but mind that her senses are always alert.

"Not sleeping, my Lady?" Caranthir asks, trailing his long fingers down her bare arms. "Scared of the night?"

"You would not think I am, would you?" She shivers, not knowing if it comes from his touch or the chill breeze stirring the air.

"No. Never", he says and he sounds completely honest.

"And you, my Lord? Why are you still awake?"

He smiles. "That, is of little concern. Will you walk with me?"

"But, my Lord", she exclaims, slightly amused by now. "Like this?." She points at the blanket draped around her.

"Worry not, my Lady, it will be warm where we are going", he whispers into her ear. "Plus no one here will be awake at this time of the night. Now will you?"

Finally she nods and draping an arm around her shoulders he leads her up and down many steps, around many corners and past many hidden alcoves, until they reach at last a room with fur-covered floor, lit by many candles.

By now Haleth has completely lost her bearings, though she would never tell him. She is the leader of her people now and as a leader she does not lose her bearings – theoretically. But now she is at a loss. All she knows is that this is not her room.

"Indeed it is not", Caranthir says, though she cannot remember uttering a question. "It is mine. Come in. Make yourself comfortable." He motions to the huge bed, which is – in likeness of the floor - also covered by furs and she settles herself in the middle of it. Haleth has never been on the shy side.

"You look beautiful."

Her head jerks up. "Do not mock me, my Lord."'

His expression softens recognizably.

"I would never dare to, my Lady."

He would not. He has the highest respect for her. But he does not tell her. Not right now. Maybe later.

For now he sits down behind her, moving closer, very close. She realizes he must have discarded whatever he wore because his warm naked skin touches hers and for only a short moment she thinks of drawing back, but then she leans into his touch, hesitatingly letting her blanket slide down to her hips.

And so they stay for a moment, like suspended from space and time, until she turns, resting her chin on his shoulder, her fingers tracing his cheekbones and jaw-line and tangling themselves in his braids until they become loose, while he rains kisses on her neck in an unruly pattern.

They remain in their embrace, surrounded by flickering candle-light, two rocks in the midst of the breakers, two souls lost to the whirls of time. Holding on to each other until the candles burn down, wishing daybreak would never come, for daybreak means cold sunlight and lack of warmth and acting like the Lady of the Haladin and the Lord of Thargelion again.

But this is no matter of importance right now; blonde hair mingling with strands of dark, small hands cupped in larger ones, skin on skin, heart to heart, breath by breath.

Until Haleth's gaze is once more drawn to the green jewel on the chain around her neck and the living light emanating from it when she touches it.

She shifts in his arms until she sits with her back to him once more, his arms draped around her belly, her hands wrapped around the pendant as she eyes it with wonder.

"This is incredible", she finally says, as if not believing her own eyes. "Who made this? Who possesses such skill?"

Caranthir smiles, looking over her bare shoulders. His fingers reach up to touch the emerald stone.

"My brother Curufin made it. Back in Aman."

A hint of sadness crosses his features, but since she sits with her back to him she cannot see it.

She lets the pendant drop in awe and then moves a little away from him, tossing her hair over her shoulder, while her fingers play idly with the green jewel.

"The Undying Lands." She turns her head a bit until she looks at him. "I have seen the tapestries in the hall. Will you tell me about them?" she asks and he is silent for a moment. As if he was startled by her question. He lets himself sink down on the pillows.

And then he tells her. About the wide green land. The white shores and the high snow-capped mountains. About the Two Trees whose fruit and flower are sun and moon, that grew there ere they were destroyed by Melkor.

While he is talking Haleth moves once more next to him, resting her head on his chest. He runs one hand absent-mindedly through her coarse sun-bleached hair. Then her eyes meet his.

"Tell me more."

A weary sigh.

"Why, this is basically all."

She smiles sweetly and snuggles even closer. "Yes, it may be all…"

He relaxes visibly but tenses again as she resumes speaking.

"… but I've been not asking you about geography. That is not what I wanted to hear. For I say what sense in mentioning rivers with not saying how they glisten in the sun; mentioning mountains and not saying how they appear shaded purple in the approaching dawn. What a waste to mention grass without saying how it rustles in the West-wind."

She hides her face in his soft dark hair as he lets out a long sigh.

"Do you not agree?" she whispers into his ear. "Let me have a look at it through your eyes. Tell me not mere facts but what it meant to you."

But Caranthir remains silent. He is too afraid he might break out in tears in front of her, ridiculous at it sounds. He has become rather sensitive about the matter, but he will not display this to anyone, especially not to her.

Haleth in fact would not mind his tears. She might even try to understand. But he cannot know this.

How far away it feels now, how long ago, how very remote – how make-believe. As if it had never been real at all, as if there never had been the blissful realms of Aman or the white towers of Tirion upon Túna, a mere tale, a legend, fashioned to please an infant's ears.

Why in all Arda were the memories of the bloodshed at Alqualonde, the screams of those slain by his sword, wielded by his very, very own hands, so far too vivid for his liking, while the memories of times before became more and more pallid, mere shades, to the point where he could scarcely remember?

How often has he wished that he might wake up to the light of the Trees and realize that everything was but an evil nightmare.

But there had been no nightmares in Tirion and Aman lies far, far from here, beyond the Sundering Seas and nevermore would he walk in the vast beauty of the Undying Lands, where the ever-singing waves caress the white shores of the Bay of Eldamar in unceasing sea-motions. There, where they sat so often to watch Varda's stars spreading out over the velvety dark-blue sky, reaching out into infinity.

How far off these days of bliss feel now. He swallows back the lump in his throat.

And so he does not tell her what a marvellous sight the Mingling of the Lights was to behold nor how the Walls of Tirion where gleaming white in the waning shine of Laurelin. And he does not tell her either how the air on the green hill of Túna was laden with the fragrance of trees that do not even exist here in Middle-earth.

When she breathes his scent (that she has become more than fond of by now) Haleth can smell these trees. Trees she doesn't even know the name of. But she does not tell him, she does not ask for their names. For Haleth is afraid, too. Afraid he might think of her as just one uneducated Atani-woman. Perhaps she should tell him nonetheless. He might feel less a monster then.

But instead both remain silent. "You must be cold", he says, wrapping a fur-lined blanket around the both of them and enveloping Haleth in his arms. He lightly kisses the top of her head.

"Good night, Adanwen."

She likes lying in his embrace, wrapped up in his strong arms, relishing in the warmth radiating from him. They make an odd couple, to be honest. He, Feanor's fourth son, a spirit of fire, an unsteady, consuming flame, immaterial and nigh impossible to grasp, and still he could never consume her, because she, the small Atani-woman is more a spirit of earth, her foundations wrought of solid stone. She holds the strength to tame his eager flame without suffocating it.

In fact they complement each other.

And around the two figures on the bed, one candle after the other goes out as the shadows slowly steal the light.

* * *

**TBC**


	5. Part V: Comes The Dawn

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, though I would gladly accept a beautifully wrapped Caranthir beneath my Christmas tree. Yes, I'd definitely like that.

* * *

**Part V: Comes The Dawn**

The bright morning light filtering in through the heavy draperies successfully belies the bitter coldness descending from the passes of the Blue Mountains. It takes Haleth a few moments to realize the fact she is shivering has its reason in the absence of Caranthir's warm body next to her. She blinks confusedly for several times, drawing the thick blanket tighter around her body. Taking in her surroundings she finally gets up and pulls the curtains wide open. Golden sunlight floods the room and as she looks out of the window she can see snow-covered peaks looming before a brilliant blue sky.

* * *

Thargelion is a wild land, rough and beautiful, with wide green plains to the West by the banks of the river rising to the foothills of the Blue Mountains to the East and the majestic peak of Mount Rerir at the Northernmost border. Here, like a black jewel set in a bed of green velvet, lies Lake Helevorn, its waters clear and ice cold. Some miles to the North-West Caranthir's fortress sits perched high upon the slopes of the mountain, wrought of dark-grey stone, looking like a mountain itself, a palace of living rock.

He has sought the loneliness of this place willingly. Here in the wind-swept widths of the lands beyond Gelion, on the very border to the unexplored leagues upon leagues of unknown land to the other side of the Ered Luin he comes at least close to feeling content. Trade with the Dwarves of Nogrod and Belegost has made him richer than he could have ever imagined, allowing him to lead the lavish life he has; the tapestry-hung halls, the luscious courtyards, the horses, the elegant greyhounds and the slender hawks he breeds for hunting. Sometimes when he rides out he might almost think to be back in Valinor, setting out for a hunt in Orome's woods, where the years lie thicker than the leaves.

He has had a strange dream last night. He was on a boat, sailing West through thick mist, in the direction of a pale otherworldly light on the far horizon. She has been with him on that boat. He has had a dream of returning to Tirion. Of returning to Tirion with her and some beautiful half-elven children. Seven of them.

He decides not to tell her. She would laugh at the fool that he is. Obviously. He is not even able to understand it himself, so why should she ever know? Things look so much clearer in the merciless light of day. There is no room for dreams left once the shadows have been driven away by the rays of Anar.

* * *

"You have rejected the elf's offer", the man of the Haladin says to her and from his tone it is hard to judge whether he supports or dislikes her decision.

"This I did, yes", she answers, voice unwavering.

"Do you know what good fortune you deny us with your choice, my Lady?" He sounds irate now, but not in a way that might impress her quite much.

"I know what possibilities I am offering you."

"For example the possibility of our people being decimated by Morgoth's marauding hordes once more?"

She fingers her hunting knife. "As much as I respect and honour my father's legacy, he made an ill choice in retreating between the rivers where we were practically trapped. I am not going to repeat the past's mistakes, mark my words. But what I am going to do is move my people West. I am not asking you to join me."

"He is rich, Haleth. He could offer us a lot." The man grows impatient.

"He already has", she replies coolly. "I am not going to overstretch his hospitality when I for my part have so little to give. I have my pride. I do not need anyone's empathy. I want my own lands and not dwell under the shelter of anyone. You may stay here if this is what you desire for I will not be forcing any of my people to do as I wish. I know better than that. But my decision", and with this her voice grows sharp, "my decision remains unchanged. Now go and leave me alone."

"You do know nothing, Haleth. You do not care the least for your people's well-being while you are warming his sheets. Instead you forfeit what little luck we might have in that short span of time that is granted us. If you think that your father's deeds give you the right to call yourself the leader of the Haladin, than you are a fool, my Lady. A damned fool!" He shouts these last words.

Haleth's motion is swift and flowing as her left hand grabs the knife resting at her hip, bringing the tip up to the man's throat. "Leave," she hisses, and then once more, this time louder: "Leave!"

Sheathing her knife again, Haleth curses the dawn. The dawn that chased away the flickering light of the candles in which she has lain on the fur-covered bed, her limbs entangled with his, loathing to let go.

* * *

The waters of Lake Helevorn are dark and bitterly cold. Occasionally a pebble, thrown from where she sits perched on the shore breaks its flawless black surface. She frowns a little, throwing yet another stone, watching as it plunges into the dim depths in a silver fountain. She does not hear him approaching. Currently her mind wanders elsewhere.

"Out so early, my Lady? Was your night not good?"

Her head spins around. She grins, letting her gaze slowly wander back to the sight of the lake before her, turning her back to him.

"The night was most memorable, my Lord." She snorts. "Though the awakening could have been better."

Her hands grab another stone, letting it fly over the water.

"I've had quite a few …" She waves her hands as if searching for the expression. "Well, call it "disagreements" with someone."

Her hands drop to her thighs, as she mutters something unintelligible, most likely a curse in whatever language.

He settles down beside her and they sit there for a long time, taking in their surroundings, contemplating the scenery while none of them says a word. It is her who finally speaks up.

"It is time to go, Feanorion. Unrest grows among my people. They badly long for something they can call their own. I'll be moving West."

He flinches nearly imperceptibly at the word "unrest", so slightly in fact, that one might only realize the movement when knowing the very fact he does so. She does not.

"You have not changed your decision", he states calmly.

She smiles.

"You would not have expected me to."

He shakes his head.

"No. Indeed I would not."

She cocks her head, finally looking at him.

"That wasn't a question."

He raises his eyes at her.

"Neither was mine."

She nods slowly, turning back to the lake. Silence weaves itself around them like a thick mist and the sun is already high in the sky when Caranthir finally stands up and starts walking back to the fortress. After some yards he turns back to her once more, calling over the distance between them.

"We will ride out for a hunt this afternoon. I would be most pleased if the Lady of the Haladin would join us for one last time."

* * *

She does not know how she has ended up on the glade among golden shafts of light and gently falling leaves. Maybe some deer she has chased too far from the hunting party to get it in reach of her bow. Or her inability to yet comprehend the speed and power of the vast Valinorean steed he has given her to ride. Far off she can still discern the barking of hounds and the sound of hooves upon the soft ground of the forest. She scans her environment warily, trying in vain to regain her bearings as Caranthir's horse enters the glade silently from a copse of young birch-trees, a ghost-like apparition, a vision of liquid gold.

He looks nothing but kingly on the great dark-brown stallion, an elegant hunting bird perched upon his gloved hand. His dark hair stirs in the breeze as he rides up beside her.

"Got lost, my Lady?"

Her eyes sparkle wildly. "I am not getting lost."

Caranthir grins slightly. "Of course you are not."

She proudly raises her chin. "Indeed, Feanorion." Then she slowly shakes her head, lowering her gaze. When she looks up again she is smirking. "We should stop these games, you know?"

He raises his eyebrows. "No more games? No more teasing?"

Haleth smiles, shaking her head once more. "No more."

"I'll miss it", he says solemnly. "I'll miss you, Adanwen."

Her eyes widen a little as she visibly struggles to resist the urge of telling him not to be stupid.

For a moment neither of them stirs while they are looking at each other. Then suddenly, moving his horse next to hers, he leans closer, snaking one arm around her waist while she gently drapes her hands around his neck and shoulders. He lets the bird fly with one slight, nearly unperceivable motion and the gloved fingers of his other hand tangle themselves in her hair as their lips meet finally. For one moment time seems to stop and forgotten is the hunt and the forest and the glade and even the golden rays of light that softly illuminate the two riders that are standing there, not noticed by anyone.

"Did you know", he whispers when they finally draw apart, "did you know that I would not mind at all if you were to stay forever?"

Haleth smiles sadly.

"Forever", she says, "forever, Feanorion, is an invention of fools."

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

**Author's Note: **The phrase "where the years lie thicker than the leaves" is taken from Treebeard's Song in LotR. Just found it fitting.


	6. Part VI: Estolad

**Disclaimer: **This story was inspired by Professor Tolkien's _"The Silmarillion"_ and _"Unfinished Tales"_, which are not mine. The idea of Haleth's tattoos comes from Marion Zimmer Bradley's _"Mists of Avalon"_, which (guess what!) is also not mine. Caranthir, on the contrary, is: I'm keeping him chained in the basement and take him out from time to time to entertain my girlfriends.

* * *

**Part VI: Estolad**

It is a glorious day in late fall when the Haladin finally break camp and prepare to leave. The sun stands low over the foothills of the mountains and the first fields of snow are gleaming upon their slopes in the golden light of noon, while a cool wind tosses the last colourful leaves off the few trees that grow here.

Haleth looks like a queen of that season, with the breeze caught in her open coppery hair that frames her milk-pale face, all the colour of summer gone from it and yet she could not look more alive than she does now, cheeks flushed both from excitement and the fresh air that already holds a breath of winter. She leads her eagerly dancing mare by her side and her gaze roams over the scenery, from the mountains to the shore of the lake where her people are gathering up the last few pieces of their belongings before finally moving West.

He comes striding towards her, grinning slightly at her most obvious restlessness. In the last few weeks they have kept up a carefully constructed façade when talking to each other in public. Courteous but distant. Calm, collected and almost ridiculously respectful. They do not want to take risks.

"_Don't", _she once has told him when he wanted to embrace her where someone might have seen them. _"That would only add fuel to the whispered conversations."_

"_The whispered conversations?"_ he has asked, raising his eyebrows.

"_The whispered conversations."_ She has laughed a little back then, a pleasant sound, like the light rustle of wind in the leaves of a year that grows old. _"My people may be mortal, but they can be rather perceptive if they want to."_

And so they have acted carefully composed up to now, their affection only obvious in fleeting glances and discreet gestures that nobody notices - or so they think – until the time has come that the sun sinks down and the twilight takes over and shadows play on the walls of his candle-lit chamber.

"So to Estolad, my Lady?"

"To Estolad. Yea." She nods enthusiastically, turning towards him while genty patting her mare's nose. Then she pauses shortly. "Will you see me there in time?"

He smiles. "I will."

She smiles back before growing serious once more. "They all are coming", she says sternly, gesturing around. "Even those who were loath to join me first. All these men and women and children. They put so much trust in me that I cannot help but wonder if I actually deserve it. These are good people, Feanorion. They deserve someone capable of leading. They really do."

She shrugs and takes a deep breath, pushing one unruly stand of dark-blonde hair out of her face.

For one short moment he sees her again like when he first met her in the angle between the rivers; a very young woman with dirt-streaked face, her hands covered in scratches, holding on to a sword stained with sticky, black blood. Unafraid, unyielding, unbreakable. A small, slender girl with eyes like storm-clouds, reaching barely to his shoulders, yet unmistakably born a leader

"You are very well fit to lead, Adanwen. Do not worry about that", he says quietly, gaze fixed on the horizon, as they stand there together, bathed in the brilliance of golden sunlight. "But now your people are waiting. It is time to join them. Farewell, Adanwenya."

She grants him a little smile before she finally leaps on her horse, wheeling it around.

"Farewell, Feanorion", she calls, "until we meet once more."

The last thing he sees of her is a small Atani-woman on a bay mare, riding at the front of a long column of people, disappearing slowly behind a hill to the West; blonde hair set ablaze in the autumn sun. Estolad lies not all too far from Thargelion, yet a long time will pass until they see each other again.

* * *

It is only when a message - telling of Haleth preparing once more for departure - reaches him that he finally sets out for Estolad, accompanied by several of his household. When approaching the Haladin's encampment he spots her from afar, standing on the top of a hill, instructing a slender girl with honey-coloured hair in how to shoot the bow, about them a whole amount of young females, barely as old as she was when her and Feanor's son first met on the Southern confines of his lands.

She wheels around as she realizes who in fact is nearing and after a few words to the girl with the bow she comes quickly walking down the hill.

"Feanorion!"

She laughs lightly, surprise mirrored in the sparkle of her eyes when she finally reaches the spot where he has reined his horse to a halt, his companions assembled several yards behind.

Years have passed but one cannot tell from her face that she has indeed grown older. If anything, she looks taller and more dignified than ever – a graceful Edain lady with carefully braided hair – and her fierce beauty seems to have magnified tenfold, with no one left finding it odd to call her thus. But her laughter – and with mirth he recognizes it – her laughter still sounds all the same, like the light rustle of leaves in early fall, and he feels happy to know that some things never seem to change.

They are watched and so their greeting has to remain one between leaders, between the Lord of Thargelion and the Lady of the Haladin; though at more than one moment she finds herself wishing to simply drape her hands around his neck and kiss the lips she has already tasted what seems so long ago, but only a twinkle in the depth of her eyes belies her actual thoughts.

* * *

They walk the plains of Estolad together, a brownish-green landscape beneath the grey clouds of a rain-soaked sky, every blade of grass dipping with drops of dew, and it is as if time has played them both a trick and only a mere weeks have past between now and a certain sun-drenched day in a dying year. But it is spring now, the last bits of icicles are just melting away from the riverbanks and more than one spring has passed since Haleth turned her back on the lands beyond the river.

"I have learned quite a lot in the last few years", she answers when he asks how she was faring. "I have been absent when I should have held the frontline and went forth when I should have held back. Many of the things I did were wrong. But is it not so that wrong is just the opposite kind of right?"

She smiles, a brilliant, dazzling kind of a smile, befitting a queen and clearly showing her current condition: She is has grown older, yes, but still she is young, vibrantly full of life and utterly content with everything she has, everything she is, everything she does. No, she has indeed not changed very much.

She still lives in a tent, as do most of her people, but this now has the size of several of her former one, walls and floor covered thickly with colourful rugs. There is even a broad bed in there and artfully draped curtains of sheer fabric combined with a hilarious amount of soft pillows and cushions effectively cover the fact of its actually simple structure.

She stands with her back turned to him, lighting the candles, one after the other, while he sits on her bed, watching her from behind.

"I have not lain with another man since leaving Thargelion", she states casually in most certainly the same way she uses to instruct the honey-haired girl in how to place an arrow to the bow-string.

He looks at her in the most incredolous way his calm manner allows him.

"And why should I believe that?"

"Well, why should you not?"

He shakes his head unbelievingly, faintly amused.

"Oh, come on, Adanwen. You are a desirable woman. You cannot tell me…"

Her head spins around. She smiles. "Believe it or not, but I haven't."

"_It would not have been the same", _she thinks, but does not even contemplate telling him. Instead as she turns, a small smirk creeps slowly upon her face. That, too, is still the same.

"Recently I remembered that night in the arcades", she says, serious once more, "and it nearly shamed me how immature I acted back then. How childish, how… foolish, how… how…"

"Angry?" He stands up and walks towards her.

"Yea, angry." She nods. "Hurt in my pride."

"So were I."

Her brow furrows. "You were?"

He laughs a little. "Please, Adanwen, I am a son of Feanor. If anything, it is not quite hard to hurt my pride."

"And now? Do you want me to make up for that?" She cocks her head. "Is it that what you came for?"

"No."

She leans closer. "So then", she whispers into his hair, "what do you want me to do?"

His hands wrap around her hips. "Come as you are. I do not want Haleth, the noble Lady of the Haladin. Tonight I want fierce Adanwen, who I once met between Ascar and Gelion."

For only one moment her mind recalls how much she always loathed to be looked upon as the wild Edain-woman, the feral, exotic being, even - or especially - by him. But there are other thoughts roaming inside her head, more simple and basic, and they do not need much time to finally take over. And so she smiles slightly, then brushes past him like a breeze in the woods, disappearing behind the curtains that surround the bed. As she undresses he glimpses a flash of bright green near her now bare navel. She lies down on her belly, beckoning to him, then fingering with her braids until they come loose.

"And Adanwen you will have."

He pushes back the shimmering drapery veiling her from his sight and his gaze is caught immediately by something that has not been there some years before. Blueish-black ornaments wind themselves around her upper arms and he holds his breath as he moves closer, running his long fingers over them in wonder.

"What are these?" he whispers and his hot breath tickles the nape of her neck.

"These, Feanorion, these were once worn by those of my people who were looked upon as leaders of my people", she answers calmly and quietly, but with her pride barely hidden. "My father wore them and my grandfather before him and several others, too, but none of them yet lives." She turns her head to look at him. "I decided to take up that tradition again for if anyone remains who owns the right to wear these signs of leadership, then it would be me. I remember well that once a certain someone told me I was fit to lead. I never forgot that."

He smiles and lets the curtain fall back into place, making them both turn into dark shadows behind the fabric, while the candles beyond it flicker on uncaringly. In a way they have missed each other's presence although they would never confess it to anyone. None of them is going to display even the tiniest bit of dependence.

So instead hushed silence is taking over again and the candles burn down once more until one star after the other makes way for the sunrise and suddenly things are not so different from what they were in the nights upon the slopes of Mount Rerir.

With the one difference that this time it is Caranthir, who is waking up alone.

* * *

**TBC**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

_"Adanwenya"_ means – as far as I know – _"my human maiden"._ I also read once that _"-ya"_ is used as some kind of diminuitive, what would work quite well, too. If I am wrong just tell me: My knowledge of Elvish is constricted to putting together the syllables I know, while shamelessly mixing Sindarin and Quenya. Forgive me. ;-)

Also, I do not know if Caranthir ever came to see Haleth in Estolad, but as far as I'm informed there's nothing that says he never did so. ;-)


	7. Part VII: To Brethil

**Disclaimer: **No, still not mine. I'm writing this simply for the fun of it and honestly believe no one in his right mind would even come to the idea to pay me money for what I am doing. It would be nice, though.

* * *

**Part VII: To Brethil**

"I will be gone 'ere long", she says, lying nakedly on her belly, a blanket draped over her waist. Her eyes are rimmed with dark paint and the tattoos on her upper arm seem to have come alive, moving in the dim light. The fire plays upon her face, half-veiled by disheveled coppery hair curling lighty at the nape of her neck. Oddly beautiful in all her strange mortalness. "I will not be staying here for much longer."

"Yes", he answers, distractedly, while running his hands over the smooth curve of her back. "Whereto?"

"The woodlands of Brethil."

His hands stop. "Thingol's lands."

She snorts. "As far as I know, Elu Thingol dwells in his halls in Menegroth, oblivious to the cares of the world. I am staking no claim on Brethil. I am merely searching for a place where my people might live savely. He cannot keep me from doing so."

"Oh yes, he can."

"As if I would care."

He grins slightly. "As if I thought you would. So to Brethil. You will be travelling down Aros and cross Sirion at Aelin-Uial, I assume?"

A small laughter escaping her lips she turns on her back, reaching up to touch his face.

"Don't be foolish, Feanorion. That would be a detour of weeks. No, I am planning to pass Doriath on the street to its North, cross Dimbar and enter Brethil coming from the East."

He frowns. "But that would mean…"

"Crossing through Nan Dungortheb, yes. Spare your worries", she answers as lightly as if she was talking about the weather, tracing his cheekbones with calloused finger-tips.

"But that would be suicide. There is no way you can lead all of your people through that valley unscathed, Haleth." _Haleth_. No Adanwen. _Haleth_. He is becoming agitated now. "Let me at least sent an escort for you."

She raises her eyebrows. "No, Feanorion. I appreciate your generosity as I always have but this is no longer your business. Do not be wroth with me, but this is a way I will have to walk alone. I cannot rely on the strength of the Eldar whenever I encounter trouble. This is one task I have to brave myself. Forgive me."

"There is nothing to forgive. I understand your reasons, Haleth. But I worry nonetheless."

She rolls her eyes. Still _Haleth._

Her hands snake around his waist. She smiles sweetly. "You feel cold. Join me." She points to the blanket still draped around her lower body.

"Do not try to distract me, Adanwen." There is the slightest tinge of teasing in his voice, belying his sincerity. "What you are going to do is dangerous."

"I know it is. It is dangerous. It is risky. It is all or nothing, Caranthir. But my life has always been like this."

"It was like this when we first met."

"Yes. And I have always got back to my feet. I will lead my my people to Brethil, Feanorion. And I will lead them there through Nan Dungortheb. These tales of horror do not scare me. You will have to accept that you will not always be able to save me."

"Are you hinting at your mortality right now? I…"

"You would not think about me as one whining about mortality."

A shadow crosses his face. "No."

She raises her arms upwards, stretching like a lazy cat. "It is not called the 'Gift of Men' for no reason, I guess. It has even something placating about it, you know. Knowing that one day I will be simply gone, not leaving a trace. I like the thought better each time I think about it."

He suddenly laughs. "Excuse me, my Lady, but if you intend on leaving no trace then you have failed." He gestures around. "And you have failed utterly. I have seen your people, Haleth. A few years ago you told me they were not like you. But just look around and you will have to realize how much like you they have in fact become. You have left a trace of you in all of them for generations to come. You will not leave with no reminder at all."

Her eyes meet his. Her voice is stern, probing. "But I will leave nonetheless. And you fear the very fact."

Yes, he does. Yes, he fears death, as unnatural as it may seem for an immortal being. Things have changed utterly since he first set foot on the shores of these dark lands. Indeed they have started to begin changing ever since the death of the Trees. Or Finwe's, respectively. But he quickly banishes these thoughts from his mind. No, he will not tell her about his fears. Not that she would tell him about hers, even when she is pretty sure about the fact he can feel the tiny tremours racing under her skin whenever he voices "Nan Dungortheb".

"We will not see each other again, will we?" he asks silently.

She stretches a little, moving closer and tangling her fingers in his hair.

"It would have been folly to wish for a happy ending", she states calmly. "It would have been utterly naïve to yearn for the happily ever after. You and me both know that."

"Yes, it would", he says, hands resting on her slender hips. "But still we are one, somehow, though of different kindreds, both joined in the Music of the Ainur and for that we cannot be parted."

She smirks. "Do not try to sound poetic, Feanorion. It does not fit you."

He sighs.

For a moment she seems lost in thought, captured in the feeling of his skin touching her own, the only sound audible the crackling of the fire in the hearth.

"Sometimes", she whispers, "sometimes I think we Edain must seem to you like lightning, lighting briefly the sky and gone only moments afterwards." She pauses. "Funny ain't it?" she adds as if on an afterthought, as if not wanting to sound uncharacteristically melancholic. In fact Haleth is anything but the type of person to reveal her deepest thoughts.

_Yes, just like lightning,_ he thinks, _yet after lightning there comes thunder and sometimes whole trees are set ablaze by a single stroke. _And smiling faintly he pulls her closer and kisses the top of her head, not one word leaving his mouth.

* * *

The final day of departure is damp and cloudy, the sky looking as if it was about to rain. Apparently Estolad is not the place for as brilliant a weather as Thargelion is. It looks almost desolate with even the brightly coloured tents of the Haladin gone, the only thing to cheer the scenery up.

"I have something for you", he says, motioning for one of his companions to come. The elf walks up towards them, leading a horse by the reins. The chestnut-coloured stallion she used to ride back in Thargelion.

He smiles. "Your little mare is nice enough, but now you need a horse befitting a leader. He is yours."

She shakes her head vehemently. "No, Caranthir, I cannot accept this."

He takes the reins of the horse and sends the other elf away.

"Yes, you can." He sounds stern. "Let me give you a present, Adanwen. Take him. He is yours."

Her hands trace the stallion's neck. Then she turns back to Caranthir. "I cannot."

"I have more than enough horses. And I know how much you liked him. He is well fit for breeding, too. He…"

She smiles and he halts in his speech. "Fine", she says. "For your sake. But I guess I have something to give you, too." Reaching around her neck she unfastens the slender silver chain with the emerald pendant and holds it out to him in her outstretched palm. The green gem sparkles brightly, contrasting with the softly shimmering silver leaves. "I wanted to give it back to you before my departure. Forgive me, but I forgot."

He gently takes the chain from her, putting it back around her neck. "That, too, was a present", he says softly, taking the jewel in his own hands. "I guess my brother did not know when he made it, but it was never meant for another." He raises his hands as if to calm her down. "And no further arguments about it, fine?"

She bites her lower lip, lowering her gaze. "It shames me, but I fear that I have nothing to offer to you, Feanorion."

A small smile graces his lips as he tilts his head down to whisper into Haleth's ear.

"You gave enough."

He pulls her into a tight embrace, breathing for a last time the scent of her hair, holding onto her slender form for just one moment more. "May you find whatever you are seeking, my Lady."

She lets her forehead rest on his shoulders, leaning closer. "Promise me to take care of yourself, Feanorion. I have the feeling you will need to. There is an eternity waiting in front of you." She pauses, breathing in, breathing out. "Seize it well."

As they both pull apart one single tear escapes the corner of her eyes, making its way down her smooth cheeks. He hesitates for one moment then reaches out slowly to brush it away, knowing if he had not seen it with is own eyes she likely never would have told him.

* * *

The sun remains veiled in Estolad. She sits on the vast Valinorean steed that is now hers, ascending the top of a hill (the very same one he saw her instructing the honey-haired girl with the bow on and probably the only thing deserving to be actually called a hill in whole Estolad), her back turned to the one standing mounted on the foot of it. When she finally reaches the summit she wheels her horse around, letting her gaze wander down to him. Raising her left hand in farewell she smiles brightly, before urging the stallion on and slowly, very slowly, painfully slowly in fact, as if Ilúvatar himself had decided to stop time for one moment, the small Atani-woman – Haleth, the one he used to call Adanwen, disappears from his sight, not looking back for a second time.

And down the hill Caranthir turns as well, heading into a direction opposite to hers, back to the sun-drenched mountain slopes of his lands beyond the river, to where they once met between Ascar and Gelion.

* * *

**THE END**

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Thanks to everyone who read (and reviewed) for all the positive feedback!


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